Quidditch
by Nevera111
Summary: The US Quidditch team has it all. Talent, charisma, and the will to go all the way. But their captain, Johnathon Frontier is dragging them all down. Can he shape up and lead the team to victory? Or will their dreams go up in smoke?
1. Loss of Hope

Birds of all type picked at worms in the soft dirt from last nights rain. Deer emerge from the woods to graze on the tree's fallen fruit.

A perfect scene of serenity, that is until the stadium erupted in thunderous applause.

The birds jumped off the ground and took flight, the deer ran for cover in the trees.

An announcer's voice wells up above all the noise. "Hello and welcome to the very first game of the quidditch season in '06."

Teams in green fly out onto the large football-field-sized playing grounds. They fly multiple times around the field, their appearance getting met with boos and jeering from the crowd. "Let me introduce you to this years Irish team. Macnab, O'Brien, Farland, Trinaday, Laden, Hinderet, and finally, their seeker O'Connely!"

Another team emerged, in uniforms of red, white, and blue. This one being met with cheers and sparks from wands. "Let me introduce... Team USA." People stomped there feet in beat as others chanted USA, USA, USA. "Hewitt, Riggs, Mercer, Holiday, Berny, Nott, and finally, there seeker and team captain, Jonathon Frontier!" This name rang out and echoed as a tall lanky black man flew out and performed a few flips.

The referee flew out, dressed in black and white. A whistle shrill and loud rang from the official, time to start the game. Frontier and Hinderet flew out to the center of the field to shake hands.

The players readied themselves in the center ring. Another shriek from the whistle sent the players flying out to their posts. Hewitt, Riggs, and Mercer flew twenty feet in the air forming a circle around the ref.

Holiday and Berny flew to the left and right of the chasers.

Nott flew back to the goal post, ready to save anything that came at him.

Finally Frontier flew up in the air, ready to catch the Snitch.

The Bludgers were released, as was the Snitch. The Quaffle flew in the air. Rotating slowly in Riggs' eyes analyzing quickly in mis mind when to attack and grab the ball. He looked at the opposing chasers all with the same glint in their eyes, ready to seize the moment and take victory.

"Not today Ireland." The words echoed into Frontier's head as the Quaffle reached level with his line of vision. His Firebolt jolted with the speed of a full fledged air craft. The Quaffle slid into his grasp fitting snug within the joint of his arm and shoulder. The crowd cheered as he sped toward the golden hoops fifty feet in the air.

Farland flew his green Firebolt toward Riggs, trying to punch the quaffle out from his grip. Riggs ducked down and swerved to the left avoiding the incoming impact. But sadly flying right into the path of an incoming Bludgers hit at him by Laden.

The Quaffle flew out of his grasp and bounced as it struck the ground. Macnab sped forward and grabbed the Quaffle from right above the soft earth. He flipped in the air and repositioned himself in front of the hoop. He dodged two Bludger and three players trying to knock him off his broom. He sped to the right and through the Quaffle through the top-most hoop. 0-10 lit up the score-board as the crowd booed loudly at the Irish player.  
"Hey Riggs!" Frontier flew to his side "what the hell is wrong with you, get your head in the game!" Riggs gave him a dirty look as he flew off.

But that was only the beginning, one after the other, mistake after mistake. Dropped Quaffles, missed Bludger Frontier started to lose it.

He stared up at the black board which now displayed a startling 0-90. A feeling of hopelessness sank in. "I had to become the seeker". He swerved upward in desperation, hoping for a glimpse of gold. In his mind it was up to him, a win is a win, and he planned on winning.

Berny grunted loudly as he hit a Bludgers particularly hard at the opposing chaser. He diverted his gaze toward Frontier who was busy yelling at his other players. He tilted his broom forward, flying toward Frontier. "Hey, leave everyone else alone and do your own damn job!"

"Berny go back with your little club and do yours. I am doing my job, it's me that led us to the World Cup last year, and it'll be me to bring us there this year." He flew away and started to circle the field again.

"Bastard." Berny looked at him with ferocity and then went back to his defensive position.

Frontier looked again at the scoreboard. During the last scuffle two more goals were let in. 110-0. Again Frontier went to a player to criticize, this time it was Nott's turn. "Nott! If your going to stand in front of the Rings why don't you go ahead and try to block something?"

Nott flew forward and caught the quaffle before throwing it back to Hewitt. Hewitt flew back and scored a goal. 

Nott looked back at Frontier in a dignified manor. "Now that thats taken care of..." Frontier circled back and began to circumnavigate the field in search of a glint or clue of the snitch's where-a-bouts."

The crowd cheered Frontier on in his search.

O'Brien had the quaffle as he sped to the three gold hoops. Berny unleashed all his frustrations toward Frontier in a huge and impressive hit that struck O'Brien in the left shoulder. Hewitt managed to grasp the quaffle and head straight toward Ireland's goals. Trinaday flew right in the path of the quaffle and he grabbed it right into his chest.

Frontier continued frantically in his search, but his panic was getting in the way. Beads of sweat fell from his long black hair and his boyish face. His intense light blue eyes scanned the field above and below.

Twenty minutes passed and neither Frontier nor O'Connely have spotted the snitch. But plenty has happened with the chasers. The game was a near shut out at 10-170. Frontier just wanted to catch the snitch, he didn't care about winning anymore.

He didn't even know the score, he just kept looking for the snitch. He was about to spin around and search in the other direction when a glint caught his eye. He shot forward, the wind catching his hair whipping it back. His eye lids squinted together, eyes watering. Hand shot forward, groping the air, hoping to close it around the walnut sized, golden ball.

O'Connely was on his tail, just as ready but not as desperate to catch the snitch. That was O'Connely's downfall. He lost the race as Frontier grabbed the snitch out of the air.

He circled the field in celebration, the snitch struggling in his hands. But something was wrong, no one was cheering. He stopped and looked at the score-board. "160-170"

Riggs stared as Frontier stormed off the field, but not before shouting loudly "Shit! No fuckin' way!" And Riggs knew, when the went to practice tomorrow, they were gonna get it.


	2. Renewal

"You are scum! Something I wipe off my fuckin foot!" Frontier walked back and forth in front of his players. "But that doesn't mean you have to play like scum!"

The players eyes were dead. None of there charisma was left after yesterdays blunder. Many of them wanted to yell, scream, tear to pieces, even blow up Frontier for the way he was blaming them. But going with their better judgement they kept their mouths shut... except Hewitt.

"Maybe we would have performed better if you weren't jumping down our throats the whole time!"

Frontier turned and got up in Hewitt's face. "What was that you said, Joe" he added as an Joe-schmoe kind of insult.

"I said, if you weren't so much of a pretty-boy jock who tried to do everything himself, maybe we would've played better." A murmur of agreement reached Frontier's ears.

"So your all too much of a pussy to admit your mistakes. Fine, get your asses in the air."

Frontier came home to a golden sunset. One so beautiful and spectacular that any normal person would have marveled at it's beauty. But Frontier was lost in thought. He walked up to his one-hundred thousand Galleon house. An old Victorian classic with vines crawling up the front. "A New England classic", the paper's realty section read when he bought it with his wife.

People thought it was crazy for him to live in a muggle neighborhood, and he had to admit they were nosy folks, always asking about the numerous owls, and the oddly colored fumes emerging from his kitchen.

His wife was a professional Potion maker and at times it was a dangerous job. She nearly set the house on fire twice.

Frontier was like a tootsie-pop hard candy on the outside, soft chocolate in the core. It just took a lot to get to the core. But Jennifer Lillian Frontier had the talent. They met in AWU (American Wizarding University) where they took multiple lessons together, but luckily his Quidditch skills were better than his Potion brewing skills.

It was immediately apparent that the two of them were meant for each other. Mostly because she could stand to be around them, and he apparently didn't totally hate her. But she got to the chocolate and he has been melting around he ever since.

He approached the door and looked down, the practice had not gone well, and the match was tomorrow. After the player outburst earlier, Frontier became extremely self conscious, he noticed every time he yelled out advice to his players and eventually stopped telling them what to do. The team then fell apart.

He walked in, being met with a series of odd smells. Mixes of rotten eggs and wet dog filled his nostrils. But he did not cringe. He was used to these smells. Yesterday it was raw sewage out in the hot sun, he welcomed the change.

Jennifer was sitting at the table in front of her pewter cauldron which was bubbling slowly and disgustingly. It looked like molten lead as it churned. A Crystal spoon stirred the potion rhythmically. Three times clock-wise once counter clock-wise.

Jennifer stood when he entered, her entire front was covered with gook. "Honey" she went to hug him but stopped and looked at her front. "Oh sorry" she laughed as she cleaned her front with her wand. "Let me clear the table." She waved her wand, the potion cleared and the ingredients and cauldron flew to the shelf.

She embraced her husband lovingly, feeling him hug her more lovingly than usual. "Honey what's up?"

"Ah nothing" he said in his smooth baritone "glad to be home".

He sat down at the table as Jennifer prepared his supper. More delicious smells of gravies and fresh bread reached his nostrils and began to push out the fowl essence of her last failed potion.

She slid his bowl over across the table and sat down with her own bowl opposite him. "So," she began "how bad was it?"

"How could you tell."

"Your not in a bad mood, something bad had to have happened" she smirked at him and rose an eyebrow.

"You can read me like a book."

"Yes and it's a very dry, boring read."

He smiled and began to tell his story. But his mind was on other things. The game was looming, grinning over his head almost mocking him. Could his team pull through for a win? The thought even haunted his dreams, flashes of the score board loomed in the darkness. 2,000-0, how could they have lost so bad? Will they lose that bad?

He awoke early the next day, the sun was just peeping over the edge of the horizon. He got up, kissed his wife on the forehead, did his "business", and went down stairs to start breakfast.

The morning was golden, "a beautiful start to a," he crossed his fingers as he said the next part "beautiful, high scoring, day". He put his broom in a padded gun case, his neighbors thought that he hunted a lot, and left for the corner of his street. He jutted his left fist into the air over the street, and with a loud pop the famously uncomfortable Knight Bus showed up in front of him.

Ernie the driver opened the doors and Stan stepped out. He pulled a card from his Purple jacket pocket and begun to read very loudly from it. "Hello I'm Stan Shunpike and I am your conductor for this evening."

_Heaven help us all_ John thought with a smile "I know the procedure Stan I've been riding this goddam contraption since I joined the team."

"Sorry John didn't know it was you."

"Like hell you didn't you just like to hear yourself talk."

John shoved past Stan and looked around the large bus, all the commuters looking very sick. But John never got sick like most. John thought it had to do with riding his broomstick but he liked the speed.

The game was two hours away, and because of transportation such as floo powder and other methods of instant travel, no one had arrived yet to take their seats. When Jonathon walked into the changing room his team was sitting there waiting for him to arrive.

"Team" Jon said sullenly. "You know what we need to do. Play hard and win. Were facing the British today, we beat those red coats before we can do it again" he said as he smiled at his historical reference. He rose a drawing of the quidditch field and began to write all over it. "Now I've been thinking a lot about our strategy for these games and I think it's high-time we change a few things..."

Team USA walked out of the long dark hallway that led to the field, this time the applause not-so thunderous. The sky was cloudy reflecting the subdued attitudes of everyone in the audience. Yesterdays defeat still shined brightly in their minds, not to mention the fact that Britain's team won their first game 200-10. They didn't feel like they had much of a chance of winning.

Not in Jon's mind however. His new plans and maneuvers brought along gaping mouths from his fellow team mates. If they could nail this they were sure to play like Quidditch gods.

But it was a big if so his hopes weren't to high.

Their names and positions rang out across the field as they flew out in their red white and blue jerseys.

The British team flew out after the American team their names and positions called out as well. "The British are coming, the British are coming!" the announcer joked "we've got Bollie, Hernackey, and Fron as chasers! Followed by Gregorian and Derney as the Beaters! And the best seeker of the century HARRY POTTER!" Even in America his name brought cheers and a little tears from the crowd. "But of course we can't forget their team captain, all the way from Italy, Joseph Trisavio!"

The official walked to the center where Jon and Joe were met prepared to shake hands.

The game began.

Jon flew up in the air and circled looking for the snitch. Hewitt had the quaffle. The bludger flew towards him, nearly hitting his shoulder. He reversed back and ducked down dodging the bludger. Hewitt then went over Bollie's head but then ran in front of Fron. But luckily Holiday was there with a bludger hitting Fron square in the shoulder, knocking him off his broom, but grabbed hold of his broom last second. But in the confusion Hewitt scored a goal past Trisavio.

Hernackey had the quaffle. But Riggs backed into Hernackey, knocking the quaffle loose. Mercer sped under and grabbed the quaffle. But before being able to take a shot on goal, was hit by a bludger. Bollie received the quaffle from him and sped toward Nott. Dodged a bludger from Berny. And the quaffle went threw the golden hoop for a goa... wait. The referee blew his shrill whistle. Gregorian threw his club at Nott hitting him in the head throwing him off course, keeper interference, no goal, penalty shot.

Riggs had the quaffle, the field was clear, almost a free goal. Trisavio stared at Riggs, ready to spring into action. Riggs sped forward, gaining speed quickly. Trisavio smiled, Riggs was going for a strait shot, one of the easiest to save.

Twenty yards, fifteen yards, ten yards. Riggs saw Trisavio smiling. He won't be smiling soon.

The crowd was silent, time seemed to slow down. Could he do it?

Riggs was close now, too close, what was he doing? Riggs spun around, he didn't shoot. But then spun to the left and held the ball in the air. Trisavio realized, he mis-judged the shot. Quickly he sped to the right side hoop. But the shot never came. Again Riggs backed up and then shot, right on the open center hoop. 20-0.

The crowd cheered and Frontier went back to his scan of the field below.

The teams flooded back out to the game.

But the crowd suddenly diverted their gazes, Frontier had just started to dive toward the ground. Harry saw him too. Harry turned 180 degrees and followed Frontier toward the ground. Frontier pulled up, the crowd groaned, it was a wronsky feint. That's what they thought, and Harry too. But it wasn't, Frontier sped in the other direction, toward the snitch, which just made an extremely odd move. But it didn't matter, Harry was still scanning the grounds as Frontier made his pursuit.

Slowly the crowd recognized what was going on. And slowly Harry sped toward him. But it was over soon. Frontier caught the snitch and USA beat Britain.


End file.
